Repeat Business

Starlight City was an organism; a sapient thing that grew and changed and had opinions, and it naturally attracted those who plied the trade of magic. Any kind of magic, really. Those who rejected the shape of their bodies and sought to change it, those who sought to create objects of utility beyond what physics allowed, and even those who would sell their soul for access to the power of gods and devils. Sorcerers were usually an exception— their art drew on the flow of leylines in the natural world, which cities tended to disrupt. Only one family was able to adapt themselves to Starlight, and it was because they saw how the natural world flowed around it. Even if none of them passed through the city itself, if one lived beside many rivers, they would never want for water.

Past the city’s outskirts was Hub-and-Spoke Mountain, the largest of those metaphorical rivers. Most city-dwellers didn’t think about it much; they were far too preoccupied with the conveniences of civilization, but it was sorcery that had produced most of the technology they depended on. The people who knew things worshiped the mountain, or feared it. Often both.

Recently, something rather absurd had happened: a witch, who should know better, had set up shop on the slope of the mountain. They disrupted the flow of magic and disrespected the power contained within. To a sorceress with proper reverence for the natural world, it was obvious that this interloper needed to be ejected.

Agatha had been lobbying for just such an ejection for the past few months, appealing to every one of her connections with the pull and power to pull it off. Nobody else cared. Even the Great Sage had stopped pretending to humor her. Without any allies, she’d had to live with things as they were. Witches were dangerous, and she dare not confront them alone. Not until tonight.

Now she was walking the mountain path to see this very intruder, the so-called Cosmic Witch of the mountain. The witch had made the first move, invading her life and hurting her family, and that meant her grudge was now personal. If she was going to save her daughter, she had to confront the problem at the source, allies or no.

The climb was not difficult, but it was uneasy. The mountain had a way of confusing one’s sense of time and space if they didn’t pay close attention. Agatha was furious, but she used that earthly emotion to keep her wits, counting the minutes and steps she was without her child. It took her about an hour to reach the point, roughly halfway up, where the witch’s hut had appeared several months prior.

No, not really a hut. A cabin, quaint and rustic and unassuming. As Agatha approached, the door opened on its own with a calculated level of rusty creaking, as if it were challenging her. Daring her to enter. But she was not afraid, because Agatha was a mother. She had no real plan, only a fury and resolve. It was all she needed. She didn’t so much as hesitate as she passed the threshold., though she wished she’d had time to change out of her casual black blouse into her proper robes.

The inside of the cabin was almost as unassuming as the outside, with couches and tables that could have been in any house in the city. However, there were grimoires and jars of mysterious ingredients strewn about haphazardly. It was a witch’s lair, without a doubt.

“Witch! Where are you!?” She yelled at the top of her lungs.

The answer came scant seconds later, from a corner leading into what was clearly a kitchen, based on the visible countertop. Out stumbled a big, awkward grey catkin in a purple coat, wiping crumbs from their whiskers. From descriptions she’d read, there could be no doubt that this was the witch. They were like a large child, or a living mascot costume. Disarming. Hard to keep your guard up around such a person, unless you knew what they were capable of.

“Mmm,” the witch swallowed whatever they’d been eating. “Um, welcome! Welcome. You stand in the home of the Cosmic Witch, Pewter Undermoon. Sorry, you caught me a little off guard. Normally, I’m a better host. Although, maybe we’ve met? Apologies if I’ve gone and forgotten you.”

“My name,” she said, “Is Agatha Rosycross. And you did something to my daughter.”

The witch nodded woozily before they suddenly snapped to attention, having parsed what was just said to them. “I know of you, then. What’s that about your daughter?”

The nerve of that response stoked her fire even higher. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!” She spread her palms and bid the flow of magic from the leyline beneath come up through her feet and out through her fingers. This was the gift from the star of her birth: holy power. Light that could illuminate the darkest corners. An energy powerful enough to physically affect the world around her. In this case, she let it fall upon the catkin’s carpet, leaving two singed circles underneath where her hands had been. The witch flinched, perhaps only now realizing the kind of power they’d trifled with. But they otherwise acted as if they hadn’t seen.

“Lady Rosycross… If you’ve come for help, then I want to help. Is Aura in some danger?”

The fact that they knew which daughter she was referring to only further proved their guilt, even if they were feigning ignorance. “You will keep her name out of your mouth, witch,” she warned. “And, you’ll reverse whatever it is that you did to her. I’m not telling you again.” She pointed in the direction of the kitchen and let out more of her light. The popping noise of shorting electronics filled the air along with the telltale scent of burning. She was still being kind, in fact: refrigerators could usually endure this much. It was unlikely that any food would spoil.

The witch, that slave of darkness, stumbled back, eyes starting to moisten. The light was too much for someone like that. “Please, ma’am. I have no idea what you… what do I need to do?”

“You heard me!” she shouted back. She wasn’t going to be fooled by this. No sympathy for evil. She would never stop until she had what she wanted.. But the witch, showing some of their true colors, suddenly stopped cowering and sprang towards her. In fact, it was so sudden that she wasn’t able to react in time. She raised her hands instinctively, only to find them grasped by clawed hands. The smell of burnt fur hit her nostrils. It only made her more upset. This catkin had no idea what they were doing.

“Witch. You will unhand me.”

They stared her right in the eyes without so much as a blink. “Lady Agatha Rosycross. It’s obvious that your daughter is in danger, but I haven’t been informed. Even if you believe me responsible, don’t you think the time we spend arguing is time we should be spending setting things right?”

Where had that sudden courage come from? The fear must have been a lie all along. Their eyes were those of a cat, so large and expressive. Agatha much preferred dogs. They were capable of understanding who was in charge. They were dutiful. Yes, a cat really might not know what was happening. It was probably negligence that had led them all to this meeting. They had given Aura all these ideas and then simply forgotten about her entirely, letting her fester.

Agatha steadied herself with a deep breath.

“You were invited to her sixteenth birthday party, without my knowledge and against my wishes.”

The witch, apparently satisfied with her response, removed their claws from her shoulders. “That’s true. I didn’t go. I’ve been up here the entire evening. I thought if I attended, it would only cause a lot of trouble for everyone.”

"Of course it would!” She snapped. “I’d never trust a witch near my daughter.”

“You aren’t here to chastise me for staying home, then.”

“I’m not interested in your jokes. Aura was upset that you didn’t respond to the invitation. I thought she had invited you on some lark. I assumed she just wanted to meet the strange new local figure. I told her that you weren’t worth meeting in the first place.”

“I see.”

“But then she was suddenly upset with me! It’s not out of the ordinary for her to be moody; she’s a teenager. But when I pressed her, she admitted to having had contact with you! She seems to think you helped her with something or another. I don’t know what it is, because as soon as I demanded to know, she vanished in a burst of fire!”

“Ah,” the catkin grunted. They seemed to actually relax, much to Agatha’s chagrin. “If that’s the case, then I have a guess as to where she is. I can help.”

The way they said it gave her fresh anger. They were cooperating so easily, as if she’d just forget their sins as soon as they did something for her. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

“Is there more?”

“You did something to my daughter behind my back. I demand to know what it was. What kind of contact did she have with you?”

The witch looked at her disdainfully. “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak of any potential client without their permission. You’ll have to talk to your daughter about it.”

“Don’t test me, witch.” She spat. She almost wanted to blast them with her light again. “I have more power and more friends than you.”

“I have no doubt about you having more friends. The Great Sage, for one. And the Master Artificers. But as I said, we should be focusing on Aura. I have the power to help you save her.”

Now that they were serious, the witch was like a completely different person; Agatha had to assume that they’d caught their bearings and now considered themself in a position to toy with her. Before her eyes, they switched off part of their soul modifications and became something that was almost fully human, if she ignored their ears and tail. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like how comfortable they were becoming. They knew, somehow, that Agatha didn’t have as much support as she was pretending. Plus, she really did need this witch alive and well if they knew how to get Aura back safely. Her fury was being beaten back by the unfortunate reality of her situation.

“Fine,” she said. “Where is Aura? What do I need to do to save her?”

"If you’ll follow me,” they said, “I’ll be able to confirm my theory. Then, I can answer that question.” With a grace that was at once both out-of-character and perfectly feline, they pivoted around and past her, vanishing out the front door before she could protest. It was sudden enough that Agatha naturally had to expect it might be an escape attempt, and she quickly rushed outside to try and catch up.

And then she was home. Standing in her own yard. The big birch in the middle, its leaves singed from Aura’s tantrum, was proof enough that this was the very same place. She looked back over her shoulder, half expecting the witch’s cabin to have relocated to the inside of her own estate, but all she saw was the entranceway that led under a modest stone arch.

The Rosycross’ home was unique to the city, being an old three-story house with a garden. It wasn’t a mansion like the other major sorcerer families lived in, but the city preferred large apartment blocks now. They were a big family and needed more than that, and the garden was a useful training grounds for Aura’s magic of life. In that way, they were the only ones who could justify owning an estate in Starlight these days. The witch stepping inside without her invitation felt like an violation, even if she’d halfway agreed to it.

As if summoned by that thought, the witch stepped out from behind the tree and into Agatha’s line of sight. They seemed to be closely observing it from root to branch, though there was no guessing what they could possibly be looking for. At the same time, the front door opened and her son Osmond came outside. He was trying his best to look calm, but a mother could see past that and sense the worry underneath. It was in the way he carried himself: stiffer than usual. He loved his family, and especially his younger sister. He was only two years older than Aura, and they’d always been so close. He was suffering just as she was, without a doubt.

“You’re back sooner than I figured,” he said as he approached. “That’s the witch, is it?”

“It is.” She touched him reassuringly on the shoulder. “How are things inside?”

Brushing a hand through his fair and tidy hair, Osmond gathered his thoughts for just a few seconds before answering. “We have everyone in the sitting room, like you asked. I couldn’t exactly convince them that everything’s under control, though.”

“That can’t be helped,” she assured him. “Listen, I’d like you to keep an eye on things from inside. I’ll handle the rest. The witch will behave as long as I’m here.”

“Did you meet them on the way?”

“No, I had to go to the mountain. They used some kind of black magic to bring us here.”

“Technically,” the lilting voice of the witch floated her way, “that was not my magic. It was a favor from the mountain. I think it may be fond of your daughter.”

Agatha knew of the mountain’s power. It was a sacred place, a natural sort of god, and it was known to have power over the connections between spaces. The witch was possibly telling the truth, then, an the idea that the mountain would want to help those who appreciated it seemed fair enough. As much as it bothered her when the witch spoke of her daughter in that way, this particular point wasn’t worth fighting over. Not while Aura was still missing.

“We were standing under the tree when she vanished,” she said instead, brushing over her feelings with business.

“I can tell. It almost changed from a birch to an ash, hm?”

“You must be quite confident in your ability to bring back my daughter if you’re comfortable making these jokes,” she said sharply.

“I am! This was a very localized blast. Even the grass escaped harm. There may be many burnt leaves, but it’s clear that Aura had near-complete control when this happened.”

Osmond was still standing a ways away, watching. Agatha waved him onward, back into the house. She’d fill him in later. “Aura was not exactly in control of her emotions when it happened. I’ll remind you again, she’s a teenager.”

“I don’t doubt that. But her fire was under control. You were nearby, weren’t you? From where I’m standing, I’d say she left her mom rare, rather than well done.”

It was clear that this catkin would only get worse if unchecked. Agatha had to draw a line somewhere. “Watch yourself witch. My daughter may have been upset, thanks to you, but she wouldn’t ever try to hurt me. She’s a good girl. Talented. She’s just stubborn, like I was at her age.”

The cat stared upward at the singed leaves, almost seeming to ignore her, but they kept talking to her anyway. “And she was stubborn about inviting me?”

“Yes. She sent the invitation after I told her not to, but I wasn’t very worried about that. All of this,” she gestured around, “Was just a routine argument.”

“Was it only about me? About the invitation?” The catkin asked. “I’m asking because it really does matter.”

The question was pointed, and she hated that. She was going to take the witch down a peg eventually, but for now she resolved to cooperate as much as possible. For Aura’s sake.

“Well,” she answered, “It was about you, but it was really how she needs to apply herself more. I wouldn’t expect you to understand these things, but she was born under the Star of Life. It’s a very rare privilege, but she’s been amusing herself playing with fire instead. I really do sympathize— it’s difficult to be important… But she’ll thank me for nagging her someday. When she’s older.”

The witch reached into a pocket on their coat and removed a leather pouch. They squeezed it gently as they surveyed the tree, looking for something. “I wonder, though,” they said. “Is it so bad to have fire within you?”

“Fire is wonderful. The problem is that she has none within her, only what she learns to harness. There’s just no future I it for her. It’s not hers.” A thought suddenly occurred to Agatha. “Is that what this is all about? Have you been encouraging her to ignore her talents and play around with nonsense instead?”

“I’ve done no such thing. If she asked, I’d just tell her to be herself.”

“That’s just a child’s fantasy, witch. Not even just for a sorceress, either. You’re an adult, aren’t you? Even you must have some sense of responsibility, or do the devils not ask for anything in return for that power you have?”

They still acted as if they were ignoring her, taking a fistfuls of a white powder from the bag and sprinkling it across the grass. “Of course they do. But if I believed birth was enough to decide an entire life, I wouldn’t be the person I am.”

Why was she trying to justify herself to them? It wasn’t any easier than convincing her own child, and there wasn’t even the promise of later maturation. Witches were children who refused to grow up. Maybe this one had parents who were overly-permissive, and so they’d ended up like this. Agatha herself had been neglectful, and now all of this had happened. It was a lesson. A warning.

“In any event,” the catkin continued, “I’m going to prepare a ritual that will take us to Aura.”

Good news on its face, but she had to be sure she understood the details. “And where would that be? Where has Aura gone?”

“Technically, she’s still right here. She’s moved through a certain dimensional space and hidden away within her own perception. You could say she’s donned a cloak of metaphor to hide her presence.”

Agatha sighed wearily. “You mean to say you’ll be revealing her, more than moving us to her?”

“In a sense. All it takes is a ritual, but I’ll need something from you.”

The load on her shoulders grew ever heavier. “What is it that you need?”

“Blood. Only a few drops. If it makes you feel better, I’ll be contributing equally.”

She slowly let out a breath as she thought it over. Losing blood was nothing, but giving a blood sacrifice to a witch’s ritual was unseemly. If some of her relatives heard she’d done so, it would have serious consequences. None of that would stop her, of course. Her will to save her daughter was stronger than any dark magic.

“If that’s what you need, you’ll have it. If you’re double-crossing me, you’ll regret it.”

“Understood,” they conspicuously averted their gaze. The witch was afraid of her, most likely. They should be, Agatha thought. “It will only take me a few minutes to draw a magic circle around the tree. Feel free to take care of anything you need to do inside; I won’t touch anything else out here.”

“I’ll watch you work,” she said immediately. It wasn’t just that she didn’t trust the witch— certainly, that was the greatest part of it— but she really didn’t want to have to face any guests in her current state. She wouldn’t be able to play the part of the kind and gracious host until her daughter was safe.

And so, Agatha Rosycross allowed a witch to make a mess of her own garden. For long minutes, she leaned against the stone wall of her home and watched them trace a long path around the tree, dropping salt to trace a circle and various arcane symbols of unknown origin. With time to think, she found herself questioning her decisions. Namely, the decision to keep the guests inside the house, rather than having them leave. She’d worried about the rumors that would spread, but it had been an emotional decision. The rumors that would have spread in that case were unavoidable, while the rumors that would result if anyone happened to look outside at her right now… those could have been avoided. A miscalculation on her part. She would keep that in mind in the future.

Eventually, the witch waved her back over to the tree. “Lady Rosycross, it’s ready.”

There was no time to hesitate. No value in showing weakness. Agatha stepped inside the circle with the witch.

“Before we begin,” they said, “You should know this: when you see Aura, you’ll need to be ready to face the emotions that led us here. She’s had time to cool off, but given the circumstances, she’s more likely to be stuck stewing.”

“I’ve dealt with her emotions more times than you can count.”

“…Very well. Everything beyond this point is metaphor, but it still has a potent effect on the physical. I’ll help you as much as I can.”

“I won’t need your help with Aura, witch. Focus on your magic.”

They nodded and fished in their jacket again, but this time, they came back with a small knife, only a few inches long but covered in a black scabbard lined with gold. The blade, small as it was, had a wicked curve. This was a ritual dagger, and when the witch drew it, Agatha could tell just from looking that it was incredibly sharp.

“This isn’t enchanted,” the witch told her. “So you’ll want to be careful you don’t cut too deep. Slice your palm like I do and then we’ll both place them on the tree’s trunk on opposite sides. Are you ready?”

If she hesitated at all, it would be showing weakness. “I’m ready. Go ahead and give me your demonstration.”

Wordlessly, the witch placed the blade lightly against their palm and then slid it away, towards the hilt, such that it left a clean cut from the slightest contact. It took a second to bleed, as if the blood itself hadn’t noticed that it was free. Closing their fist, they smeared the blood around their own palm. And then they wiped the blade and handed it to her.

It didn’t hurt at first, when she repeated the actions she’d been shown. She was not as practiced at the action, and felt no shame in it. Only, she let a few drops fall to the grass. She was glad it was hers, and not catkin’s. It was fine for part of her to be in the ground here. Much better than having a witch become part of her garden. Her hand now stained as crimson as it would be from what she’d sacrificed, she moved to her tree.

“Go. No delays,” she said.

But the witch didn’t rush, instead pacing everything theatrically. Moving to the opposite side of the tree.

“This place,” they said, “is something that you and Aura shared. Close your eyes and imagine that its branches can lead you to her. Focus on that desire. Use it.”

Agatha closed her eyes, and she tried. Her will was strong, but the instructions were nonsense. What did it mean to use a desire? A feeling? Her world was one of rules and recipes. She understood her magic, not this kind of thing. This profane thing.

“The flow of belief isn’t quite right,” said the witch. “Do you think my power is false? It’s strange for you to have come this far with me if you do.”

She answered with her eyes still closed. “That’s not it. I know that witches draw strength from beings of power. Great and terrible power. But that power is outside the natural world. Mine comes from the earth and stars, things that exist physically. You and I are in opposition, in every way.”

“Not every way. We’re both people, united in our desires, or at least our current goal. Ritual is something common to all people. It can subsume any strength for its own use.”

She frowned, which the catkin would hopefully not be able to see from the other side of the tree. “You aren’t making me feel any better about this ritual of yours.”

“It’s fine if you think it’s evil. You only need align your desire with it. You wish to be in the same place as your daughter, isn’t that right?”

Of course she did— as if she needed to be lectured by a witch. Gripped with the desire to tell them off, she instead focused on the feeling of the bark under her blood-stained hands. Rough wood. A living thing pushing back against her weight. This was the natural world at work; her world. And all of it was connected to every other part. The roots of her tree and the stars above were a single linked system. That being the case, to touch one was to touch the other. Her connection to the tree at this time was a connection to Aura, and that was a fact irrespective of whatever nonsense the catkin fed her.

Agatha willed her thoughts through the tree and into the earth. She apologized to Aura, for always pushing her so hard. Even harder than she’d pushed Osmond. It was all to help her reach her potential, but it must have made her lonely. Today should have been a day for her to feel loved. Yes, Agatha promised that once she was back, Aura would feel nothing but love all day.

At some point, she had managed to lose track of the tree. She was no longer touching it, and even waving her hand back and forth, she couldn’t find it. Somehow, she’d taken a step back. She needed to lean forward again. Just a little bit forward. So far forward that she lost her footing entirely and she tumbled into the nothing. Her eyes shot open automatically, but she saw only the speckled darkness of the night sky.

It wasn’t night time, though. And these stars seemed more vibrant than usual. Even though she was falling and turning, there was no ground to catch her. Nothing to land painfully on. There wasn’t even any reference point to give meaning to the twisting and turning. Or friction to help stop, for that matter.

But, no, it was impossible to be in outer space and survive. The witch had called this a metaphor, but it was really a hallucination. Therefore, she should be able to introduce friction on her own. It was a matter of belief. Actually, not belief— willpower. She bid herself stop, and she did; Almost too abruptly for comfort. Stopping in the sea of stars, she listened carefully.

It was quiet, but not silent. In the real outer space, the vacuum would have made for an oppressive silence, notwithstanding the fact that it would kill her. Here, there were more and brighter stars than she’d ever seen. It would have been beautiful in another circumstance. She would like to have seen this sight with her husband. But she was alone. Had the witch betrayed her? Trapped her in a purgatory?

“Mom?”

Aura’s voice. Instinct spun her around as easily as it had stopped her. A moment ago, that space had definitely been empty, but now it was fire. It was the sun itself, as she’d seen in close-up pictures taken by telescopes, except that it was hollow. In the middle of all of it, partly obscured by the blaze, Aura sat, cross-legged, unburnt and seemingly unbothered. The flames seemed to flow from her very center and drift outwards to form a shell around her. Agatha felt a profound relief contaminated by worry.

“Aura, honey. Are you… are you alright? Does this hurt?”

She’d never been so happy to hear that familiar, dismissive sigh that Aura gave her at times. “Yeah, mom. This isn’t real fire. It’s like… spiritual. It feels good, actually. How did you even get here?”

“I brought her!” The witch suddenly floated into view. They carried almost something of a glow about them in this place, as if they were leaking magic. “I know you came here to hide, but I couldn’t exactly leave things unresolved, given the circumstances.”

Suddenly, Agatha perceived a change; a sense of unease that descended upon them. Aura looked at the witch and frowned, the fire around her seeming to swell outwards. It was hot now, where a second before it was only giving off light. Something about the illusion was becoming more real. The conclusion was as natural to her as breathing: her daughter was about to have another tantrum.

"Why did you have to show up now!?” Aura yelled.

The witch tugged nervously on one of their fluffy ears. “I’m sorry. I had to come here to fix things.”

Flames erupted from Aura’s body in a plume like a solar flare, swirling around the dark in a wide arc that led towards the witch. Unlike Agatha, who knew her daughter perfectly, the awkward catkin hadn’t seen this coming, and was only just barely able to twist and float out of the way, though their hat was caught in the stream and knocked off, floating into the void, trailing sparks. These flames certainly didn’t match the intensity of an actual star, but they were enough to do damage. She sighed. To some extent, this witch deserved it, but Aura would be very unhappy once she calmed down if she hurt this pathetic creature. That was because she was a kind and empathetic girl, even to a fault; the fate of those born under the star of life. It was a mother’s job to protect her from her own rashness.

“Ah, Miss Aura!” the catkin cried, “Your flames are too hot to let them rage at me.”

Aura glared at them. “I know they’re hot. I want you to leave me alone!” Another flare sprang from the central orb, but Agatha was prepared this time. With her light, she formed a curved bank to deflect the fire away from the witch. For a moment, she locked eyes with them, and nodded. If there was a toll to extract from the catkin, it would be decided later on, and Agatha would be the judge.

“Aura, honey,” she adopted a nurturing tone. “That’s quite enough of this. Listen to your mother: come home with me, and I’ll take care of everything.”

This did not satisfy Aura. “You don’t get it, Mom!” Testily, she fired off another swirling blast of red-white fire. Agatha deflected the blast as easily as the previous. She wasn’t surprised that her first plea hadn’t worked, and indeed she felt a little bit satisfied to see her daughter treating the witch with the kind of scorn they deserved.

“Miss Aura, please!” The witch scrambled through space, as if they could find their footing where none existed. “I admit I was expecting you to be more upset with your mother than me, but it’s fine! Listen, you made the decision to be yourself. It was the right decision. I’m here to support you!” They reached out towards her, offering a hand much too far away for her to take. Appropriate, Agatha thought.

Aura’s voice exploded again. “If you cared, you would have shown up! Or at least told me why you couldn’t! You’re only here because my mom made you come!” A crackling loud enough to hurt Agatha’s ears rang out and three solar flares erupted from Aura’s core, all converging on the witch from different angles. Agatha wrapped her light around them like a cloak. The flames were deflected cleanly, but she’d allowed them to get closer this time, and she got some satisfaction from the catkin’s wince as the heat slammed into them.

“Aura!” Agatha chose a more commanding tone. “The witch was rude, but as a member of the Rosycross family, you must be above something as petty as attacking someone with magic.” Now, she would offer something positive, to counterbalance the rebuke. “I’ll take care of making sure this one gets what they deserve, but you will stand down this instant. Am I understood?”

But the witch raised one hand to silence her. “A moment, Lady Rosycross.” She sucked breath in sharply through her teeth and tried not to blow up at them. “I’m afraid I may deserve this. After all, I left Miss Aura with a false impression.”

She did not entirely succeed at hiding her annoyance. “What impression? What are you talking about?”

“That I was a reliable person. The truth is, I am what I’ve always been: a coward.”

Self-pitying garbage. “You didn’t want to face the consequences,” Agatha offered.

“I didn’t want to face you, I’m afraid,” they answered instead. “You’re a formidable woman, Lady Rosycross. The opposite of myself. I don’t care for conflict, and I don’t want to bother other people. I prefer to sit and watch things from afar. If we met, then you’d despise me. I believe that you despised me regardless, though only from my profession.”

“Witch isn’t a profession,” Agatha said. “No more than sorceress is. It’s something deeper. And that… is the part I have a disagreement with.”

The catkin nodded. “On that point, we do have some agreement.”

Aura’s flames were losing their intensity as she listened. This was how she always was deep down: a girl who was perhaps a little too empathetic to the wrong people. She felt bad for the witch. “You couldn’t know that it would have been that way,” she said softly. “If the two of you had met in the right way, you could have understood each other. And you… you could have backed me up.”

There is was. At the heart of everything, a teenager was a teenager: scared and looking for help.

“Sweetie,” she said, “It’s all right now. I’ve met the witch. They’ve kept their promise to help me find you. I don’t know what they told you, but you see, don’t you? Their magic only made these… awful things happen to you.”

Aura sadly just shook her head in the middle of her fire cradle. “You don’t get anything, Mom. They didn’t do any of this. I did. I wasn’t totally sure about it before, but… this is me. The real me.”

There it was. She was clinging to the self pity and empty promises of this witch because she was still trying to avoid the responsibility of her star. Agatha had hoped she’d grow out of this by now, but influences like the witch were stunting her development. Yelling and bribing and reasoning had all failed— Aura was simply too clever and too stubborn for that. A new possibility now arose in Agatha’s mind: she would simply give her daughter all the information and let her come to her own conclusion. She was, after all, the only person she wouldn’t argue with.

“I understand, dear,” she started. “This isn’t easy for you. This fire, though? For all the time you’ve spent with it, you still haven’t gotten to the level of a real fire sorcerer. If you were a specialist, then even I wouldn’t be able to deflect your flames so easily.”

As expected, Aura’s gaze snapped to her. She was just like her mom, never able to turn down a challenge. “I wasn’t trying to kill anyone, mom. I just… got annoyed.”

“Are you saying you can burn hotter? Do you think you could outdo my light?”

“No, I…” She hesitated for just a second. “Yes. I know I can.”

Agatha, for the first time this afternoon, smiled. This audacity was exactly what an ambitious sorceress needed, and the truth was that when she finally learned to use her proper magic, that of life, then she really would be able to do things far greater than Agatha herself. She only needed to follow the right path.

The witch quickly floated near to Agatha. “Lady Rosycross,” they whispered. “I believe I see what you’re trying to do, and I think you should reconsider.”

She ignored them. “Show me, Aura. If you’re really as strong as you think, then I’ll acknowledge you have talent in the magic of flames. We’ll figure out some way to make it work. But until I believe in it, I just can’t go along with you.”

“What is it you want me to do?” Aura asked. She seemed to sense that there was an angle in this sudden offer. Of course, she was right about that, but she would still see the opportunity. She would assuredly accept the offer.

“Send all of your fire at me. Put everything you have into it. Show me how much power you’ve managed to pull together, and I’ll show you the light I usually hold back. You haven’t ever seen me at my best, you know.”

“Hold on!” The witch spoke up. “You should aim at me, instead. I deserve some punishment, and I know a thing or two about-

“No,” Agatha cut them off. “Aiming has nothing to do with it. I’ll enclose her with my light so that nothing can escape. Not even heat. She can aim however she likes. I only need to be within a reasonable range, and you will be further. I won’t budge on this, witch.”

“Fine,” Aura agreed. The catkin’s brow creased. They actually seemed concerned for her. She supposed that it was genuine, but that wasn’t important: Agatha was making an informed decision. Spreading her arms, she spread her light out in an embrace, projecting a sort of klein bottle that emanated from herself and enclosed her daughter. Calmly, Aura closed her eyes and let it happen, already used to Agatha’s light and its effects.

The witch was not so strong, they averted their eyes and changed again, becoming a full catkin as they’d been when Agatha first saw them.

“Miss Aura,” they said. “Do your best. I promise I’ll protect her.”

Ah, such arrogance. Agatha didn’t need any protection— especially from the likes of a witch. But that was fine as long as they didn’t interfere. She really did want Aura to put her full strength into this. The defeat would be total, and that would prove her point.

Inside of her birdcage of light, Aura blazed harder. She became fuzzy and indistinct within the illusion, obscured by her own heat. It was more than Agatha had expected, and it pushed hard on her light, but not hard enough to break free. Aura had natural talent, and was definitely above an amateur’s level in fire, but nowhere near what she would be able to do when she got serious about her star. Agatha was privately happy about it: seeing how skilled her daughter had become, and knowing that soon she’d get everything back on track. The two of them would look back on this as a moment of mutual triumph. They would bond over it.

Aura’s voice floated out from inside the bottle. It was clear and loud; perfectly audible. “Mom… is this really what matters to you? Making sure I use the right magic?”

“Not at all, sweetheart. It’s your future I care about. I want you to be happy and successful.”

There was a larger flare. Something like a spark that slammed into the side of the light cage and almost threw Agatha off-balance. It had to be Aura’s last gasp. It was impressive, too. Someday, she’d tell her daughter that.

“Yeah, I know.” Aura said. “I never told you everything, so I can’t complain that you don’t get it. I was just afraid, I guess. It seems so ridiculous now.”

“You can tell me anything, sweetheart.” This was more progress than she’d even hoped for. A real, genuine, opening up, without all the defensiveness. Seeing how powerless she was against Agatha’s holy light had truly humbled her willful daughter. And she would reward that. “Whatever you do, and whatever your going through, it’s a mother’s job to listen. I went through all the same things with Osmond and Iris.”

“Not the exact same things. They were good at the things they were supposed to be good at. But not me. You think I never tried hard enough to use the magic of life, but that’s not it. I’ve been trying to hard. I would have given anything to be good at it. To make you happy.”

She increased the heat again, but the pressure remained similar. No additional fire. Agatha could handle that. “Sweetie, you’ll be fine. I’ll help you. I’ve already been asking around for tutors in the other families. All you need to do is be open to learning.”

Aura sighed. She sounded wearier than a young girl should. “This is how it always is. You say you’ll listen, but you only listen to the things you want to hear. I’m just so exhausted.”

“That’s because you’re trying to hard at something you’re not meant for. If you put that effort into your talents, you’ll find it so much easier.”

“You still aren’t listening, Mom. You never listen to me.”

She was getting upset again. It was best to ease off for the moment, so that she would feel like she’d come to the right conclusion entirely on her own. “What is it, then? You can tell me anything, honey.”

“Making this fire isn’t what’s tiring. It’s holding the fire back.”

Heat. Pressure. It was as if Aura was an atom bomb that had gone off in the middle of the cage that Agatha had constructed. Everything she’d felt until now was only a fraction of the force that was hitting at every angle now. Agatha stumbled, feeling as if all this force were on her own body, battering her from every angle like debris in a tsunami.

But she never lost her insight. The thing that disturbed her most was not the power, but the unpredictability of this force. She couldn’t trace it back through the earth, and she couldn’t. Therefore, she could reach only one conclusion: what her daughter was doing right now was not actually sorcery at all.

Something was deeply wrong with Aura.

Like an egg, her cage of light cracked and splintered, and a brightness that was even greater erupted from where it had been. White-hot tongues of flame firing in all directions as if the sun itself had come down to vex her. Agatha fell backwards, somehow finding solid ground in the void, and threw up her arms instinctively, as if she could stop what was coming with them. She screamed, but the sound was lost even to her own ears under the roar of an approaching death.

Yet she was not swallowed up. As the wave came at her, it crashed on the shores of some unseen surface. She could make it out a rough and craggy wall only in the shape that the fire adhered to as it harmlessly left her, until the only trace left was the memory of the heat that she still felt on her flesh.

She could see Aura again as the conflagration died down, but she heard the witch’s voice coming from behind her first. “The moon appears bright because it reflects the sun’s rays,” they said. “The metaphor is a little forced, I think, but the results were delightful.”

The moon. The surface that had shielded her was that of the moon. The witch’s doing, then. Absurd. She closed her eyes tight and sighed heavily, and when she opened them again, she was back in her garden, which she’d never really left. Aura was there, too, standing on the grass exactly as she’d been when she vanished.

“Mom!” He daughter rushed to her side, not a trace of the fire to be seen. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” she said automatically. Her backside might ache later; nothing worth saying out loud. “But… what did that witch do to you?”

Aura sat down on the grass next to her. “Nothing,” she said. “This is me. This was always me. I went to them to try and fix it, but then I just… couldn’t. Didn’t want to. It’d be like cutting off an arm.”

“That wasn’t natural. It wasn’t sorcery. Nothing like that has ever happened in this family.” She pushed herself up on her elbows. This was serious, and she was completely overwhelmed for the first time in many, many years.

“Is that what you think?” The witch was leaning against the tree’s trunk, looking far too comfortable here in her garden, as if they were a family friend now. They held what was left of their hat in both hands, the tip burnt to cinders. Evidently, they’d picked it up from where it had fallen. “To me, it feels very natural. Only, I’m not sure what kind of nature it is.”

“I’ve studied my family’s history,” she scolded the witch, but gently. They’d just saved her life, and so she felt obligated to give them some grace. It would still only be a very limited amount.

“Well,” said a new-but-familiar voice. “I think you might find your sources aren’t always so perfect, Agatha.”

If she hadn’t already been on the ground, she might have fallen over. The witch came pretty close, too. None of them had seen the owner of that voice, deep and subtly mocking, until he was right on top of them. Agatha didn’t need to look— as soon as her brain caught up with her, she realized that she knew that tone very well. She’d hoped that she wouldn’t see him today, even before everything had gone wrong. His presence here at this moment was possibly the worst thing that could have happened.

“Great Sage…” The witch stammered.

“We meet in person,” said the Great Sage of Rain. “Not a place I’d normally expect to see our illustrious Cosmic Witch, hm?”

Agatha’s instincts brought her to her feet quickly and gracefully. “Aleph! I’m embarrassed that I didn’t greet you properly when you entered.”

“Well, this is only a casual birthday party, after all. I let myself in.”

This was the social dance one played with the Great Sage. He never stood on ceremony, and he never let her relax. Even the way he insisted she call him by his name, rather than title, felt like some kind of sick joke at her expense. As if everyone could see the irony that she pretended to be on the same level as the man who was half a millennium old.

Aleph was Jellyfishkin, not the only one but certainly the first and the best constructed. Agatha was by no means an expert on such things, but his body was much more extreme than any other she’d seen. It was a sack of translucent slime shaped impeccably like a notably tall and thin-but-muscular man. Even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, he always carried an umbrella, a prop to fit his image and the closest thing to clothing he bothered with. Over his head sat the jellyfish cap, from which several dozen long tendrils hung like rowdy hair, usually kept tied in a sort of long ponytail at his back. She’d never had the courage to ask, but she assumed all his organs were compressed into that space under the cap, the only part of him she couldn’t see through. She’d never actually caught a direct glimpse of his eyes, and she’d known him since she was six years old.

“In all seriousness,” he said, “I came over here because I heard that your Aura was in some trouble. I know I’m looking rather disheveled myself, so there’s no need to be embarrassed.”

He looked the same as always.

“Um,” Aura weakly piped up from behind Agatha. “How did you know? That I was in trouble, I mean.”

The Great Sage looked directly at her (presumably, just from following how his head was turned). Agatha tensed up instinctively, but his stance wasn’t as hostile as usual. From what she saw of his face, his expression was as soft as his body.

“You’re Aura, yes? The last time I saw you, you were just a baby. I owe you an apology. Actually, I owe you quite a few of them!”

“Excuse me?” Both mother and daughter asked at the same time.

“If I’d kept in touch properly, I might have prevented all of this trouble you’ve had today. And I dare say some of the trouble you’ve been having up until now. ”

This was all rather unusual, and not entirely in-character for the Great Sage. Agatha didn’t know where this was going, but she didn’t like it one bit.

“With all the respect in the world, sir, it’s understandable. This is the business of a Sorcerer family. Even you can’t know everything about that.”

He glanced in her direction again, but only briefly, and rather unhappily. “You’re interrupting my explanation before its finished,” he said bluntly. “Your ancestor was more patient.”

Agatha swallowed hard and tried to keep her face from betraying her feelings. The Great Sage hardly ever let a conversation pass without reminding her of his acquaintance with the man who’d founded her family’s legacy, whose name had gone unrecorded at his own request. She’d found journal entries describing a meeting with the Great Sage in the family documents— it was a fact. She had no ammunition to deny him.

Tapping his umbrella on the ground, he continued. “Brevity is the soul of wit, so I’ll be direct: from the very moment I first laid eyes on Aura, I thought there was something unusual about her soul. Young souls aren’t fully formed, and are very often chaotic. It was reasonable to assume that hers would settle into something typical as she aged. Of course, as a member of your family, she never visited any sage who could have reported on her situation, but that’s not excuse for negligence on my part. I’ll be diligent in my work from here on.”

Every protective instinct Agatha had activated at once. “Hold on! What does that mean? What work?”

“Research! I’ve never seen a soul like hers, and that means I can learn from it.”

“You can’t! I mean… your work, it’s incompatible with our way of life.”

The Great Sage’s tentacles flexed slowly. One moved to brush the others from his face. “Regardless, my intent is to understand her soul as it currently exists. Not to change it in any particular way.”

“What do you mean by ‘regardless’!?”

Aura interrupted before he could answer. “Mr. Aleph, are you saying you can fix me?”

The Great Sage dropped to one knee, so that his eyeline was just a bit below Aura’s. “Miss Aura Rosycross, I can promise you this: I’m not fixing a single thing, because there’s nothing that needs fixing. As a sage I’ll tell you that no soul is broken, but many are still growing. As a human man, I promise that I’ll help you as best I can. Will you accept that help?”

Aura took a step back, clearly overwhelmed. Agatha bit her lip, trying to find words to express herself that wouldn’t offend in a way that could be used against her. She’d never once seen the Great Sage prostrate himself before anyone, not even metaphorically. It was downright suspicious, and he was trying to take her girl away. Maybe not physically, but… somehow. What exactly did his ‘help’ entail?

“Lady Agatha, don’t say anything yet,” he cut off her train of thought. “I want your daughter’s thoughts first.”

Idiot that she was, she obeyed.

Aura took a single, deep breathe. “I have two questions,” she finally said.

“Go ahead,” Aleph responded calmly.

“First, what’s so special about me?”

The Great Sage rose to his feet and crossed his arms, gathering complicated thoughts together before he spoke. “You are a human, from a human father and mother, and yet your soul is distinctly non-human. That’s the best way I can describe it. I know humans who identify with animals and even objects, and all of that reflects on their souls, but yours is something else. Something even I haven’t seen before.”

Aura fidgeted with her hands clasped in front of her. “What does that mean, though? How can I be a human and not a human?”

“That’s what I intend to find out, though I will say that I was only speaking figuratively. I imagine that you’re simply a human being with a unique situation. I can’t even guarantee it has anything to do with your affinity for fire, but it would be a rather strange coincidence if there wasn’t some connection.”

“Then… you might be able to help me actually use the magic of my star?”

A lone bubble worked its way up through the Great Sage’s body. “If that’s what you want, I’ll research it. Actually, I have a colleague who has more knowledge of sorcery, and I’ve already sent them a letter. I can’t guarantee anything, but if it’s possible, and you want it, then I think there’s a good chance I can figure it out.”

Agatha had noticed one strange thing in the Great Sage’s explanation, and it tore at her. She could no longer keep quiet. In fact, she felt foolish for having allowed him to silence her. “Aleph, there’s something you’re keeping from us.”

“It’s okay, mom,” Aura interrupted. “I noticed it, too. I said I had two questions.”

“You did,” the Great Sage agreed.

Aura nodded. “How did you know about me? A moment ago, you referenced my affinity for fire, but even my mom didn’t really know about that until this afternoon.”

“Ah, you pay close attention,” Aleph said. “I won’t lie to you, then: I was visited by a representative of the Order of Nine Arrows.”

Agatha moved without thinking, bearing up on the Great Sage with the attention of grabbing onto his clothes and shaking him. As he had no clothes or any particular feature to offer a handhold, she instead stood awkwardly in front of him. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place!?”

He put his hands gently on her shoulders. It was a gesture that seemed uncharacteristically sincere. “There’s nothing to worry about. Most people know the Order as assassins, but I can assure you that most of their resources go towards finding ways to not kill people, and that means keeping an eye on things.” He turned towards Aura next. She’d frozen in place. “They’re curious, same as me.”

Aura only relaxed the tiniest amount. “But they knew everything? How?”

“Spies. Magic. Anything. I’m sure they know everything about me, for example, and I’ve taken measures to keep things from them. Not because I’m a threat to world peace, of course. I just think they should have to put the effort in.”

Agatha’s blood was running cold as ice in her veins. What had started as a very straightforward argument had now extended far beyond her comfort zone. Seeing the way Aura clenched her fists, she was obviously just as unhappy. Yes, that was something that her mother could control, at least a little.

“Sir,” she said, “You’re scaring my daughter.”

“I answered her question truthfully,” he responded flatly. “I owe her that much. Instead of keeping her in the dark, you and I will support her, and trust that she can handle it. Isn’t that right?”

She felt as if she’d slammed into a brick wall. She’d been parried so effortlessly. “Well…”

“I’m not trying to force her into working with me out of fear, but ignorance isn’t bravery.”

“I’m not sure what to do,” Aura said.

There. That was a chance to get her daughter away from all of these people who were confusing her. “You can’t expect her to agree to anything without time to think.”

“I agree with you there,” the Great Sage said as he rose to his feet again. It was too easy; he was planning something. “You can contact me whenever you’re ready to give me an answer.”

“Wait,” Aura reached out to stop him.

“It’s alright, honey. We’ll discuss all of this later.” Agatha felt control returning to her. She could keep her family safe. She would figure out what needed to be done through her own means. The Great Sage was simply a potential asset she could use in that goal, if it was absolutely necessary.

“Be quiet, Mom,” Aura huffed. It was actually comforting, hearing one of her more typical moody outbursts. “Where did… Pewter!”

She ran towards the front gate of the estate, where the witch had taken advantage of the heated discussion to slink off. Truthfully, Agatha would have been happy to let them. Her thoughts of punishing them for their crimes, or even thanking them for saving her life, had been swallowed up in more important matters.

The witch held onto the hat on their head tightly with one hand. “Ah, I thought I’d already done enough here, so…”

“You’re running away again.”

“…Yes. At times like this, I’m not worth much.”

“Undermoon!” The Great Sage shouted after them. “You earned a small measure of my respect when you resolved the situation with the casino. Are you going to throw it all away now?”

“I could never gain the respect of someone like you, Great Sage.”

Aleph laughed. “So, you can at least manage to be passive-aggressive. It’s been a while since I’ve met a witch in the flesh. You have an interesting soul.”

“It’s difficult to find sages who aren’t disturbed by it.”

“It’s more complex than you’ve realized. But if you need some work done, call on my office. As long as you’re happy to be a learning case for my student.”

The catkin, still not turning around, shook their head. “You just want to keep an eye on me.”

Aura hopped in between the two of them. “Enough of that! Pewter, I’d like your advice. What do you think I should do?”

This wasn’t good, but it would get worse if Agatha interrupted. Patience was key. Opinions were just opinions, and could vanish as soon as they were voiced. Aura clung to trusting this witch for some reason, but she just as easily turned on them.

“I can’t choose for you,” the witch said.

“I didn’t ask you to choose for me. I asked your opinion. I know you have one, and I bet you want to give it.”

“I think,” they finally said, “That knowing yourself, truly, is important. But I’m also quite afraid of the Great Sage.”

“Why?”

“He’s a powerful man, and I don’t trust people with power. I also don’t trust people as… assertive as he is.”

“I’m direct,” the Great Sage added. “You know, Undermoon, we do have some things in common.”

The catkin nodded. “No doubt. You were a trailblazer when it comes to solving the mysteries of the self. I kept secrets from myself for years, and if not for the art you founded, I might not have ever uncovered them. That’s why I think that Aura should accept your help.”

“I’m thankful for the vote of confidence,” Aleph touched the rim of his cap, as if tipping a hat. “But my art can’t solve anything for anyone. What we do, is empower one to know their own soul, and that’s a lifelong project. Don’t think you know yourself fully just because you found a few secrets.”

“A curious, curious response. Do you know something I don’t?”

“I know quite a bit that you don’t, Undermoon. That’s what experience does.”

Aura mercifully stopped the two having their self-absorbed conversation. “So that’s what you recommend?”

“Yes,” the witch said. “Accept the help of others, but don’t lose sight of yourself. Otherwise, you’ll only live to please other people.”

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” Aura smiled, and Agatha felt conflicted, hating her being close to that witch, but loving to see her happy. There was nothing she could do about that right now, though. The best course of action was to end this meeting as swiftly as possible.

“Well!” She clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention as she approached. “Mx, ah, Undermoon. I want to thank you for all your help today before you head out. Would you like some birthday cake to take with you? You were invited, after all! Isn’t that right, Aura?” The way the catkin’s ears perked up at the mention, she thought the offer would be accepted. She would actually have preferred a polite refusal followed by a swift departure from her home, but this was fine, too.

“We should offer Mr. Aleph some, too,” Aura said.

“Of course,” Agatha replied. She wanted him gone just as much, but he would definitely refuse anyway. She’d never seen him eat, though he expressed many opinions about food.

“And,” Aura suddenly added. “I accept your offer, sir. I want you to help me discover what’s… what I am.”

Panic. Agatha had to move swiftly, before the Great Sage took advantage somehow. “Sweetie! You don’t have to decide right now. We’ll talk it over.”

But Aura stood firm. “Mom, I’m not stupid. I know you don’t want me to do this. If I let you, you’ll do everything you can to stop it. I don’t know what’s going to happen from here on, but I want it to be my choice. That’s why I’m making my choice right now. If it’s the wrong choice, then I’ll figure it out myself.”

All the tension flooded back into Agatha’s body. As of now, she had no plausible deniability to use in protecting Aura. The Great Sage could bring all of his own social power to bear against her if she tried to keep him out of it. In short, her own daughter, incredible and clever as she was, had beaten her. The Great Sage, too, if the smile on his face at that moment was any indication. She was now at a disadvantage, and there was no telling what was going to happen.

“Agatha,” he said. “I swear to you that we’re on the same side in this. You and I want the same thing. I absolutely swear to you that I’m not going to force her into doing anything she doesn’t want to do.”

What about the things I don’t want her to do? She wanted to say it, but it was useless. She had to make a tactical retreat.

“Please just keep me in the loop? I worry, you know. As a mother.”

“Of course.”

She sighed. “Alright, then. I’ll support you however I can.”

Aura smiled again, even more than before. Brighter than Agatha had seen her look in years. “Thanks, Mom. I promise I’m done running away, okay?”

It was rewarding, seeing her happy. That was enough. It reminded Agatha of how important her job was. She would not give up. Never. She’d keep Aura safe and uncorrupted. She’d raise a family even better off than she was. Even if it killed her, she’d never let down her guard or stop fighting. Some day, everything would be settled, and all of them would be able to laugh at their own childhood indiscretions.

“I’m happy to hear it,” said the Great Sage. “You’re not a prisoner, anyway. From now on, you and I are partners in exploring the frontiers of the soul. And of course, that’s easiest if the Lady Agatha lends her enthusiastic support.” Agatha heard the sarcasm that Aura likely could not.

“I’ll be having my student call you and set up an appointment date. Until then, feel free to contact me if you experience anything unusual. Any time, day or night, understand? Even if you think I can’t help with my skills, I have a lot of connections.”

“So do I, sir.” Aura glanced at the witch, who was still lurking nearby, looking out of place.

He laughed. Agatha hated his laugh. It always sounded like he was laughing at her. “All the more reason why Undermoon should take me up on my offer.”

The witch’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t really need a sage at the moment.”

“You will,” Aleph responded, and then he walked past them, slipping out of the garden like a liquid.

“So!” Aura said as soon as he was out of sight. “Can we get you that cake, Pewter? I know you love desserts. You should come in and have some. Only if you want to, of course.”

Both Agatha and the catkin exchanged almost equivalent looks of trepidation.

“I want to tell my mom everything that happened when I went to see you,” Aura continued. “And I think you have a lot to add to that. Call it a birthday present?”

“Only if your mother agrees to it,” they said, passing the ball to her. Of course. Both of them had been backed into a corner by Aura. There was no point in pretending otherwise. They would suffer each other together.

“Of course! Come on in.”